


The Wolf and the Lamb

by Arrestzelle



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Ass to Mouth, Barebacking, Choking, Crying, Drug-Induced Sex, Face Slapping, Handcuffs, Herzeleid Era, M/M, Overstimulation, Recreational Drug Use, Rough Sex, Switching, bottom Till
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 00:55:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20144887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arrestzelle/pseuds/Arrestzelle
Summary: High off cocaine, Till and Paul take advantage of their heightened senses. Till likes giving up control, and Paul is more than thrilled to take it from him.





	The Wolf and the Lamb

**Author's Note:**

> This is [Herzeleid](https://66.media.tumblr.com/565619bcf6178d5f2a1ac2473871c6f3/tumblr_pvukavQs7t1rvajymo1_400.jpg) [era](https://66.media.tumblr.com/bb49e198770eba198070a694e29814bb/tumblr_pvukavQs7t1rvajymo2_540.jpg). 
> 
> As usual, here's some depraved, shameful content. Have fun.
> 
> Your warnings are in the tags.

The music blaring through the cluttered bedroom is fast-paced and invigorating, in tandem with Till’s rapid heartbeat and the restlessness in his hands. His skin is alive, crawling with fire and ice and sweat and awakened nerves. His black locks are clinging to his forehead and the sides of his face with sweat, his eyes opening, closing, opening, closing—faltering, slow blinks as he attempts to absorb the tsunami of sensation. It feels like there are three pairs of hands on him. Two stroking up over his sides, another pair gripping his hips so tightly it hurts, one hand sliding across his arm to thread their fingers together, another reaching around to grip his achingly hard cock.

His body is shaking. He feels limitless, restless, anxious—the need to _move_ claws at him, but the feeling of being pulled back into hard, hungry thrusts grounds him. Moans melt from his open mouth like warm molasses, crawling from him to join the cacophony of noise. The boisterous crash of skin meeting skin, obscenely. Heavy breathing, brutal guitar, raw groans of pleasure.

Teeth latch onto the back of his shoulder and it has him rippling with tension, sucking in a sharp breath. Paul bites a trail across his hot skin, sucking harshly with intent to leave marks, followed by departing bites that are _much_ too hard and has Till wincing. Till collapses forward onto his elbow, one hand planted shakily against the rumpled duvet underneath them. He’s finally able to determine where those hands are: they’re curled deliciously around his muscular thighs, anchoring him and pulling him back into the vicious snapping of his hips.

Paul’s hair is tickling across his skin as he continues sloppily biting and mouthing over his back. Till moans lowly, a rumbling like an earthquake deep in his chest. The firing of endorphins going off in his head is overwhelming. A fireworks show, a monsoon, cracks of lightning, the roaring of fire. Then he finds himself grinning and laughing to himself, finding this arrangement humorous in some unusual way—here he is, on his hands and knees, getting railed by _Paul._ Typically, the roles are reversed. After all, he’s bigger, more powerful, gruff, stoic. Isn’t there expectation placed upon him? Shouldn’t he be the beast pinning the prey? The wolf ripping into the flesh of the lamb?

The place he finds himself in has him laughing, but it also serves as a relief. The relief of having a predator, the release of being torn into. Has he always loved getting fucked up the ass? Because goddamn, Paul is really giving it to him, and it feels fucking _great._ Till’s entire body is alive, his mind racing, his nerves seemingly doubled in their sensitivity. He can’t seem to stop shaking. His face is screwing up with pleasure, his hands fisting in the covers, his knees sliding further apart to welcome the feeling, and to lower his posture in order to deepen it.

Dimly, he can hear Paul babbling beyond the roaring sound of the pounding music swallowing them whole. With a furrowed brow, Till _really_ focuses, straining his mind to narrow in on his ragged, deep voice. Paul is gasping, digging his nails into his thighs, pulling him back into his greedy thrusting. The words come to Till like wiping condensation from glass.

“Till, you’re so—so good, you’re so hot inside, ah, God_—Till—”_ Paul is breathing like he’s in prayer, shakily snapping his hips into him, taking in a shuddering breath, so sharp and torn in its nature, truly displaying Paul’s debauchery. Till feels him bow forward to rest his forehead to his shoulder, his sweat-slickened blonde locks tickling him. Then he’s kissing his warm skin, sloppily and wetly, before he speaks again, slurring lips moving against him, “Feels so damn good. Letting me fuck you like this, but… Nnn, you like it, don’t you? I can feel you shaking so much, I know you like it when I claim you. You want me to destroy you. Ah… Yeah, Till, not many know you like getting _fucked._ You love being torn apart.”

He laughs breathlessly, and then he’s gripping Till’s thighs so hard that it_ fucking hurts_. Till presses his red hot face into the covers, grimacing with overstimulated tears simmering behind his eyelids. He lethargically drags a hand down the bed to grab onto Paul’s wrist, fingers shaking uncontrollably. He whimpers into the bed, a rough sound in his throat. Paul hums lowly and shoves into him repeatedly, with such force it has Till growling past grit teeth. He pauses, gyrating his hips so roughly against him it evokes a sharp gasp of pleasure from the older man.

Shakily, Paul speaks into Till’s skin, nosing at the closely cropped hair at the nape of his neck, “You’d like it if I pulled your hair, spanked you, maybe even choked you, huh? Don’t you want me to do everything to you? I _know_ you would love it. I know you want me to draw blood. You want to _bleed._ Want me to _fucking_ r-ruin you—shit—”

He goes silent, gasping into Till’s sweaty skin, and then leans back to regain leverage. He begins violently pounding into him, hips crashing against his ass with such force it has Till yelling in both pain and agonizing pleasure. He jerks his head up, teeth bared and eyes screwed shut. Paul moans his name again and again, a raw chant that abruptly ends when Paul stops, shuddering, and pulls out of him so suddenly. Looking at him past his shoulder with a displeased eye, Till growls dangerously, _“Paul.”_

Paul sticks his tongue out at him from between his teeth, grinning around it, eyes wide and wild. He then _shoves_ him over, the power behind it unfiltered. Till collapses onto his side, disoriented in his state, his legs curling and arms splayed limply, hands weak and tingly. He pants heavily, looks up at Paul with alert eyes, his dark bangs strewn across his forehead and brow. Sweat slides between their fiery skin when Paul climbs over him, kneeing his legs open enough for him to fit between them. With Till laying on his side, he no longer has to balance himself upright while Paul lines up, legs intimately aligned with Till’s, and smoothly pushes back into him. Till tosses his head back and groans.

“I want to hear you say it,” Paul grunts as he begins snapping his hips down against him, his slender hands curling around Till’s midsection, keeping him pinned to the bed. Till looks up at him dazedly past his bangs, his cheeks red, hands resting still by his head. Paul’s intense gray eyes are trained right on his, his bleached locks wild and clinging to his forehead with sweat. Till dimly thinks he looks gorgeous like this. Flushed, glistening with his exertion, the blue/gray of his irises drowned in the black pool of his pupils, his cheeks and jaw decorated with stubble, his arms, chest, belly flexing with the full-body motions. Till watches him, enraptured by the wolf he sees in him. Paul then grins, exposing teeth and a predatory smirk that takes Till’s remaining breath away.

“What’s wrong,_ Tillie?_” Paul hisses teasingly, eyes narrowing at him, the bridge of his nose wrinkling up, joined by that hypnotizing, sneering grin. He plants his hands on the bed, leans in over Till. He ducks his head to begin mouthing his way up his heaving, muscular chest, letting his tongue flatly roam up over a nipple, licking up sweat, tasting his skin. Then he looks at him with piercing, dilated eyes, an unusual wildness on his face.

“Tell me what you want,” he growls, shadowed by the pounding of the music, “Or do you just want me to fuck you? Is that all? You simply want to lay there and take it?”

Till takes in shuddering breath, lethargically licks his lips, swallows down the sand in his mouth.

“I want—” he begins thickly, his deep voice hoarse and weak, his emerald eyes lidded and hazy, “I… You were right. I like it when you hurt me.”

“I know you do,” Paul murmurs, resting his cheek to Till’s chest, nuzzling into him—the scratch of his stubble feels good, more than anything else. Till’s eyes falter, eyelids falling, before Paul grabs a fistful of his dark locks and tightens his knuckles, pulling at the roots, earning a pained, alert look from the older man. Paul arches his body just enough to kiss Till. Till’s eyes roll shut again. He drunkenly mashes his lips against Paul’s, while Paul hungrily consumes him through this heated kiss. Paul bites his bottom lip between his teeth, hard enough it has Till making a noise of shock. He opens his eyes, finds himself submerged in those enlarged pupils. Paul stares at him with wicked amusement, a grin curling at his lips. He lets Till’s bottom lip snap out from his teeth.

“How?” Paul whispers. Till swallows thickly. He can’t think clearly past the veil. His hands are shaking. His heart is still pounding in his ears. Blood rushes through his tightened veins, and he swears he can actually feel it. Paul is like a demon, claiming him at his weakest moment. Till groans. Paul begins biting along his strong jawline, huffing against his skin. It’s hard to string together words when Paul is nipping at his throat and ear, while grinding his hips into him—it serves to remind him just how deep Paul is inside his body right now. Till speaks lowly, weakly, eyes trained on the ceiling, unseeing.

“I want you to… To—Ungh. To choke me while you… Fffff… Fuck me. Ah—and… Slap my fucking face. Make me choke on your fingers. Paul… God. I can’t—I can’t focus—_Paul…”_

His voice is rough, unsteady in its foundation. Desperate. Helpless.

“Tell me more,” Paul whispers against his cheek, his lips moving against heated skin. Till’s eyes roll, his hands lethargically raising from the bed to finally find connection on Paul’s sides. He grabs at him, choking on the breath he sucks in deeply. He can’t think. Where did the articulation go? The eloquence?

“I’m too fucking—” Till groans, seeing stars and static behind his closed eyes, blood roaring in his ears, his dick throbbing, trapped between his closed thighs, “Can’t—focus. Do whatever you want to me. I don’t care. Do everything to me. Fuck me, fuck me, goddamn it, _please_—”

“That’s it,” Paul slurs, an inebriated purr against Till’s jawline, lips a whisper against his skin, a smile felt against him. He then withdraws, leaning back to regain his leverage, Till’s hands sliding from his hot skin. Paul releases Till’s hair to instead curl that hand around his throat. He presses down hard, choking Till, pushing his head back into the bed. Distantly in his mind, Till wonders if this is the safest thing to practice while they’re both not exactly sober—but then he realizes the pounding in his head doesn’t worsen. Paul isn’t restricting blood flow, he’s only constricting his windpipe, and not even hard enough to truly hurt. A phantom of the true pain. Till strains to breathe past it, but he _can_ breathe.

“You’re such a mess,” Paul laughs, an inebriated giggle that has Till lopsidedly grinning, his hazy eyes rolling open to look up at Paul past his messy bangs. Paul begins rolling his hips again, gazing into Till’s eyes. He remains deep inside of him, only pulling out _just_ enough to enact a firm thrust back in. Till’s head is floating, while also moving at lightspeed. The sensations—the firm grip of Paul’s strong hand around his throat, the feeling of being fucked deeply, the fire of his skin, the fireworks in his belly—overwhelm him and render him speechless. He only manages a few choked noises past the unrelenting grip. Gradually, Paul begins to pick up the pace.

Faster and harder becomes rapid and violent, a relentless snapping of Paul’s hips that has tightened moans emerging from Till’s throat as garbled noises, desperate in their sound. Till’s face is in an open-mouthed grimace, his eyes clenched shut, his cheeks red, brow knit tightly. It feels so damn good, and he never knew it could be this good—except he _did,_ and he _does,_ because they’ve lived through this exact damn experience many times before. But it seems so _new,_ like this is the first time they’ve fucked while high off blow.

The abrupt strike of a hand against his face throws his head to the side from the force of it, ripping him from the chasm of his chaotic mind. His hair flies, his eyes snapping open to train on the spinning, double-vision image of Paul. His cheek burns, throbbing. Paul is looking at him darkly, his eyes dangerous, his damp bangs falling across his brow.

“Look at me. Keep your eyes on me. I’m going to come in your ass and I don’t want you to look away.”

Till stares at him unwaveringly, his chest stuttering in his attempts to breathe in deeply, his teeth locking, face reddened from the restricted airflow. He nods shakily. The hand that had slapped his face grabs his jaw. Till obediently parts his teeth when Paul brings three fingers up to push them into his mouth. Till can barely, _just barely_, keep his eyes open to watch him. Paul releases his other hand from his throat. Till sucks in a deep, gasping breath, albeit stifled from the fingers stuffed in his mouth.

Instead, Paul plants that hand on Till’s hip, keeping his prone body pinned, as well as giving himself more leverage. He stares at Till, watching him closely as he begins to thrust again—with an immediate brutal, harsh drive of his hips, _shoving_ back into him with such force it has Till’s body jerking with each one. Till’s eyelids flinch shut, his face twisting from the pain/pleasure of being fucked so roughly.

The fingers in his mouth push deeper, breaching his level of comfort. Paul’s knuckles brush against his lips, his pinky pressed to his cheek. Till gags roughly, upper half convulsing. His watering eyes weakly flutter open to retrain on him. Paul watches him with fiery eyes, his body never ceasing in its relentless pace. He pounds into him with such violent bucks of his hips, Till is groaning loudly beyond the choking fingers in his mouth. He gags twice more, spitting up drool as his eyes squeeze shut out of natural reflex. The simmering tears on his waterline break free to drip down his scarred cheeks.

The fingers in his mouth withdraw, instead reconnecting with his cheek in a brutal slap, leaving Till’s saliva and a red mark in their wake. Till’s mind reels, his eyes rolling, his head collapsing back against the covers. A hand grabs a fistful of his hair at the nape, forces his head back up. Till growls, teeth bared, tears melting into the lines of his jaw and his grimacing lips. His eyes weakly peel open, training on the wavering, watery sight of his partner. Paul, he realizes, is moaning and gasping, his eyes fluttering, his mouth open, his cheeks painted a stark red. Till blinks away the tears. He sees a clearer sight of Paul unraveling, coming apart completely. Paul releases the fistful of his hair. He plants his hand against Till’s rib cage, desperate for stability as he fucks into him fast and hard, groaning and sucking in raw gasps of air.

Despite feeling as if they were a thousand kilos and simultaneously detached from his body, Till brings his hands up to sluggishly grab onto Paul’s wrists—one hand against his rib cage, the other against his hip—and uses it to ground both himself and Paul. Paul’s face is twisted in agony as he shakily drives into Till a dozen more times, his entire body trembling, the noises ripping from his throat raw and utterly ruined. He cries and grunts Till’s name as he jerkily rocks into him, his expression remaining in that grimace of ecstasy. His blonde hair clings to his forehead and the sides of his face with sweat, a handsome, telling visual of the exertion he put his body through. His chest, firm yet soft at the same time, heaves as he gasps for air. Then, his eyes open, wild and _alive_ as they rapidly glance over Till’s weakened, trembling form.

“Shit,” Paul breathes. He looks down to watch as he slowly pulls out. Till moans weakly, eyes lidded and trained tiredly on the other man. Paul’s entire body is shuddering, flexing, chest expanding and deflating quickly as his lungs attempt to compensate for the breath he’s lost. Paul bites his lip, watching his slick, flushed cock pop out of Till, still hard, yet to soften. It’s covered in a thin layer of his semen. Gently sliding one wrist from Till’s hand, Paul reaches down to push Till’s leg further up, before pulling his asscheeks apart. His hole is well-fucked, a creamy mess in the aftermath of lube and Paul’s load. Paul peeks up at Till, bottom lip between his teeth, a grin curling at his mouth.

Till watches him dazedly, breathing hard himself, attempting to recuperate from _everything._ God, when was the last time a drug hit him this damn hard?

Then Paul begins to shift closer to him on the bed; on his knees, he scoots up towards Till, and where his head rests. Till dimly realizes what he wants when Paul reaches out to rake his slender fingers through his dark hair, while cupping a hand underneath his slick cock. He angles his hips, leaning in to bring his cock to his face. With every nerve and muscle feeling like lead, Till slowly opens his mouth, though seemingly not quick enough: Paul is already rubbing the pink head against his lips and teeth, impatient. Till tastes the cum before it’s even in his mouth. He parts his teeth willingly, looks up at the other man dazedly. Paul then slides his shaft into his mouth, head hung, eyes hooded, watching as he inserts his wet cock between those plump lips.

“There you go,” Paul moans, gently stroking at his hair, repeatedly running his fingers through raven locks. Till closes his eyes and focuses on licking at him, sucking with hollowing cheeks. The texture and taste of his cum overwhelms Till’s tongue. Paul’s dick is hot and heavy in his mouth. Softening, just slightly. Paul hums deeply, heard louder in Till’s vacant head now that the music has come to an end—must have reached the end of the CD. Till lamely sucks and nurses at his cock. Paul gasps—Till distantly feels him trembling.

Realizing his awkward position, accentuated by the strain in his neck, Till lazily rolls over to face him more, bringing a heavy hand up to stroke it over Paul’s flexing thigh. Emboldened, he begins bobbing his head, repeatedly sucking his softening cock into his mouth. He chokes as he takes it into his throat, face buried in Paul’s groin, feeling the tickle of his pubic hair against his nose. The inebriation makes it much harder; Till only holds it for two seconds before gagging harshly, his back curling, spit dripping from his bottom lip. He immediately withdraws, breathing heavily through his nose, until just the head is in his mouth.

“G-Good—” Paul gasps, shaking almost uncontrollably under Till’s mouth and hand, fingers clutching at his hair, “Nngh, th-there you go. Clean it all off. I don’t want that filth on me.”

Only when Paul is overwhelmed by sensitivity does he curl a hand around Till’s throat and push him off. Till flops back bonelessly. He sprawls out, eyes hooded, trained on Paul, before rolling shut. Distantly, in the void of sensation, he feels Paul’s lips on his chest and hairy belly. Hands find his skin elsewhere. Fingers curl around the base of his stiff cock, angling it up. Till peels his eyes open to see Paul leaning in, his blonde hair obscuring his vision, body angled in a way which makes it difficult to see when he rolls his tongue around the thick, dripping head. Till’s entire body locks up. The sensation is shockingly intense. Till groans.

Paul sucks the head into his mouth. He begins nursing tightly while curling his hand under Till’s heavy balls, massaging them in his grip. Till produces a wrecked moan, trembling involuntarily, violently. He weakly watches the way Paul’s freckled back flexes and moves while he begins shifting, and then abruptly the amazing, wet heat on his dick is gone. He sits up, looks over at Till with wide, enthusiastic eyes and a smile as he roams a hand across his heaving belly, and chest, stroking across muscle and hair.

“Let me tie your wrists down!” he exclaims—really, more of a demand than anything—with his hand curling gently, possessively around Till’s jaw, gripping it. Till swallows hard. He nods a little. Paul will find very little protest in him tonight. Paul scrambles to get out of bed, digging in the bin under the bed to find the handcuffs. There’s nothing special about them; they’re simply steel handcuffs with a key. Something even Till couldn’t get out of.

Till willingly raises his wrists, pressing them together. Paul is grinning as he moves to kneel over Till’s midsection. Till silently admires his smaller, lean body as Paul locks the handcuffs around his wrists. With a guiding hand on his wrists, Paul gently pushes them up above his head, to rest among the pillows. Till lets them drop limply, his elbows bent, fingers curling in lazily. He looks at Paul with lidded eyes, lips in a passive line. Paul is grinning coyly at him. He plants a hand on the bed, leans in to kiss him, a firm, lingering purse of his lips that Till hungrily returns, but it is brief. Paul pulls back to say cheekily, eyes wide and still rather dilated, “I could just tear you apart with you looking like that. Looking at me like I could have my way with you.”

“You can,” Till murmurs, voice gravelly. Paul laughs.

“I will. Now, stay still.”

“M’not… Going anywhere,” Till replies, blinking rapidly to rid of the discomfort in his eyes. They’re burning—what hour is it? Is he tired, or is it from the drugs? Could it be? It’s not like he snorted that shit through his eyes. Till is left to lay there, brow furrowed, staring at nothing, as he attempts to recall the effects and symptoms of cocaine.

Meanwhile, Paul had produced the bottle of lube, and is now currently three fingers inside himself, gazing dazedly at Till’s beautiful laying form. Admiring his thick, stiff cock resting up against his abs, shrouded by a handsome bush of curls. Till has a very focused expression on his face. Paul wants to ask why he looks like he’s contemplating the universe, but comes to realize that’s a common thing with him.

Till loses his train of thought. He stares at the freckles on Paul’s shoulder, realizing he was thinking about _something,_ but he can’t recall what it was.

Not that it matters. Paul is climbing over him, reaching out to quickly stroke lube over his aching cock. Till’s jaw and neck flex, his eyes widening. His big fingers curl into his palms, forming loose fists above his head against the pillows. Paul smirks at him with lustful eyes and warm cheeks, while he strokes his fingers loosely, _tortuously_ loosely, over his shaft. Till thrusts his hips up, huffing and grumbling like a bull. Pulling his hand away, Paul laughs.

“Calm down, big guy! Isn’t there some solace in the fact this is going to be up my ass in a second? I’m going out of my way to touch you, and even that’s not good enough!”

“Shut up,” Till moans, blinking heavily. Paul giggles and tickles his fingernails along the swell of Till’s balls. Till snarls and twists his hips. When he realizes it was a touch without harm, he relaxes again, letting his muscular thighs splay open. Paul whistles lowly and runs one fingertip from the base of his cock, to the underside of his balls while musing deliciously, tongue curling over his teeth, “You are going to be such fun to play with. Wait ‘til you see what I’m going to do to you, _baby.”_

Till grunts.

“Don’t call me that,” he mutters, blushing heavily. Paul snickers and grips his balls tighter now, squeezing just enough that it has Till’s spine arching, thighs clenching. Paul speaks slyly, like a snake.

“Oh, but you’re so cute and get so flustered when I do.”

“Will you hurry up and get me off already? I feel like—like… I’m going to burst.”

Paul pauses, humming, even bringing his other hand up to cradle his own jaw as if he were deep in thought. He really considers this. Till frowns at him. Paul holds up a finger, and then gets up from the bed. Till huffs, watching as Paul approaches the low table on the other side of the room. He grabs the bag of coke and one of the many poker cards from its surface. He returns to Till and the bed. He straddles Till’s thighs as he opens up the bag. With a concentrated look on his face, Paul inserts the corner of the poker card into the little plastic bag. Carefully, he scrapes out some of the powder along the edge of the card.

Till watches with anticipation. Paul brings the card down to Till’s face. Till looks up at the smaller man, licking his lips. Grinning a little, Paul pinches Till’s nostril shut with one finger while holding the edge of the card to the other. Till sucks it in sharply. Paul flicks away the poker card; it hits against the wall. Till coughs and blinks heavily. He snorts out of his nose a few times, trying to clear the uncomfortable feeling in his sinuses and nasal passageways. Paul, meanwhile, adjusts his position on top of Till, scooting back for a better angle. Till didn’t anticipate for Paul to begin spilling a line onto the shaft of his dick.

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Till breathlessly says, laughing. The coke hits him almost immediately. His heart begins to ramp up again, his veins tightening, vision sharpening. Paul is already giggling as he closes the bag and sets it aside, before shuffling further back on Till’s legs. He leans in, kisses over Till’s thighs and flexing belly, before fixing up the line on his cock with a careful thumb. With that thumb pressed to his nose, he leans in to inhale the line sharply in one quick sweep, his nostril tickling Till’s shaft. Till giggles to himself, watching with amusement and a grin that brings out his dimples. Paul laughs and then laps up the dust left behind by dragging his tongue over the underside. Till hums and relaxes back into the bed.

“God, you are so fucking sexy,” Paul slurs against the head of his cock, before licking at it dazedly. Till moans. Paul lurches back suddenly, startling the other man, and crawls over him to grab the lube again. The previous application already dried. He pours more out, sets aside the bottle, shifts back again to reach down and hurriedly stroke it over his angrily flushed cock. Till grits his teeth, hands clenching into fists. His heart is pounding. His stomach is tingling. His skin is crawling with fire again. His body is trembling. With his eyes straining to focus, Till sees how Paul’s hands are shaking. He brings one back to supposedly rub the remainder of lube over himself. Till swallows hard, watching.

Then Paul climbs over him. The drag of his skin against his own is amplified. Paul looks down to watch himself adjust Till’s dick, while angling his hips. Till stares with wide, eager eyes, mouth falling open, hands remaining clenched above his head. The feeling of Paul slowly sitting down on his painfully hard cock is beyond words. Till groans loudly, head arching back against the pillows, entire body winding up with tension. His blood is rushing through his ears. Pulsating throughout his limbs. His fingers are tingling. His tongue is heavy in his mouth. His eyelids are restless, fluttering. Chest heaving, mouth lax.

Paul’s body is tight and hot around his cock. Slowly, ever so slowly, he presses down on it, bearing down, until he’s sitting on Till’s hips, his hand slipping out from between them, no longer necessary in keeping Till’s dick in place. Till pants heavily, loud in the quietness of the room, joined by Paul’s deep, pleased humming. Paul strokes his hands back over Till’s quivering, muscular thighs. Then he cheekily cups his balls, squeezing. Till groans again, digging his heels into the bed to shove his hips up against Paul’s ass. Paul grunts and pushes back into it. He brings his hands up to roam them across Till’s chest, to ultimately close them around his throat, slowly and gently at first. He speaks lowly, searching Till’s weakened face.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? Like you’re going to break apart, like you’re going to unravel thread by thread, until it comes to a head in your belly. Like you could explode.”

“Nngh,” Till produces, an eloquent response to that. Paul laughs. Grinning, he squeezes both hands around Till’s throat, searching in those hazy, deep green eyes as he begins gyrating his hips, rocking back and forth onto his cock. Till moans, a choked sound, vibrating against Paul’s fingers. He brings his bound hands down, the handcuffs clicking, and rests them limply against Paul’s forearms, fingers curling sluggishly into his skin. Paul’s arm hair tickles him. Paul hums and watches his grimacing face as he begins moving in earnest. He uses Till’s throat for leverage, and it hurts. Till chokes and coughs, head beginning to throb. His eyes roll shut.

The euphoria which overcomes him is indescribable. Fire bursting forth, soaring throughout his core, settling in his belly like a red hot poker. His balls feel so tight, and he knows it’s because Paul has teased him too damn much throughout this. He’s not going to last long, that much is evident. Paul releases his throat, suddenly. Till sucks in a sharp breath, opening his eyes to dazedly watch the other man. Paul is planting his feet on the bed for leverage. He sits over him, placing his hands on his chest for stability. He begins bouncing on his cock, his dilated eyes wide and unmoving, trained on Till’s pleasured expression. Till lets his hands fall limply against the pillows, above his head.

“Fuck me,” Paul says, gazing down at him with heated cheeks and hungry eyes, his blond locks wild against his forehead, moving with the sudden jerking of his body. He slams himself down on Till’s cock, demanding, “Come on, move!”

Till grabs fistfuls of the pillows above his head, plants his feet against the bed, and begins to thrust up into Paul as he comes down. Paul cries out, head throwing back. He grabs tightly onto Till’s pecs. The smacking of their meeting skin joins Till’s grunting and snarling, Paul’s gasping moans. Paul’s fingers find his nipples and pinch tightly while he continues riding him quickly, roughly. Till’s entire body winds up. His hips shake wildly as he bucks them up into Paul’s ass.

“Paul, fuck!” he snarls, eyes screwed shut, mouth grimacing, “I—Ngh—I’m close! O-oh… Ffff—fuck.”

“Yes, good, Till,” Paul breathlessly praises with a giddy laugh, groping at his chest, hard enough to hurt, his eyes trained intently on Till’s grimacing face, “Don’t hold back. Come on!”

Paul starts slowing down, his body exhausted of its energy; in return, Till begins pumping his hips faster, quicker, in bursts. Paul moans and brings a hand back to gently stroke it over his thigh, encouraging it. Till growls and snarls and grunts, losing his mind and his sense of control as he’s devoured by the euphoria of his orgasm. His mind degenerates into a white canvas, wiped utterly clean, only to be painted by an explosion of stars. His entire body is locked up, quivering uncontrollably. His hips reflexively give sharp, short thrusts, driving his cock up into a giggling Paul who all too happily watches his face flicker between agony, pleasure, slackened awe. He remains buried deep inside him as he fills him.

“There you go,” Paul purrs, bringing feather-like fingers down behind himself to gently cup Till’s tightened balls. Till groans, and then goes completely limp against the bed. Paul laughs to himself as he gingerly rubs at his spent balls. Till’s consciousness is floating. It feels like he just released his soul from his fucking nuts. Paul’s giggling isn’t helping.

The only thing that grabs his sanity, and his consciousness, by the throat is Paul beginning to slowly move up and down on his throbbing dick. His eyes snap open. Paul is biting his lip, watching his face coyly as he continues cupping his balls in his hand, while gyrating back on his cock. Holy shit. Till groans harshly, a raw sound ripped from his throat.

“Fuck! Paul!” he gasps sharply, head arching back, neck lengthening and straining, his chest heaving, knees flying up to press into Paul’s sides. Paul hums innocently. He squeezes his balls as a departing gesture before placing his hands on the bed, wrists hugging against Till’s sweaty sides. He leans in over him intimately, gazing down at his flushed, grimacing face as he begins to repeatedly drop down onto his cock, a deeper thrusting now that he has more leverage. Till snarls. His head whips up to look at Paul.

“What—ffffuck! Wh-What… What—” Till gasps, stammering, eyes wide, unable to get the fucking words out. Paul giggles and leans in to kiss his lax mouth, mouthing at his bottom lip. Till weakly, dazedly returns it. Paul loves when he becomes barely responsive. It’s so hot. He continues bouncing on his cock, until Till is sobbing out groans of agony. He stops kissing Paul to drop his head back against the bed. Paul watches his face, sees the torment in the grimace on his face.

Paul feels his cock becoming soft in his ass. He stops moving. Till goes limp, gasping for air, eyes rolling. Paul watches his face as he moves to lean back on the heels of his feet, bearing down against Till’s groin as brings his hand around to press his fingers against his shaft, keeping it in place as he begins rocking back on his cock again. He feels Till’s load begin to seep out—which turns him on. It drips down over his fingers.

Till grunts loudly, body arching, his joined hands jerking down to grab onto one of Paul’s hips, clawing at his skin.

“It’s too much!” he bellows, “Paul! I can’t! Oh, God!”

The agonizing sensation is intensified tenfold, his nerves on fire, _overstimulated,_ painfully so. His dick is no longer hard, still attempting to die down from his orgasm, but unable to due to the prolonged stimulation. Paul stubbornly refuses to let it slip out; he sits down on it entirely, fingers keeping it in place, and just gyrates against him while clenching his muscles. Till groans in utter agony, spine curved, head thrown back, his teeth bared, eyes squeezed shut. Tears pool behind clenched eyelids. Paul hums and roams his free hand over Till’s sweaty, heaving chest as he tries bouncing on his soft cock again. It slips out. Till groans in relief. Paul immediately climbs off of him.

Breathless himself, Paul nudges apart Till’s sluggishly closing legs and fits between them. He lowers one hand between his thighs, slipping his thumb under his balls to firmly grind the pad of it into his perineum, stimulating his prostate from the outside while leaning in to suck his soft, slick cock into his mouth. It’s coated with Till’s previous orgasm. Till cries out, head flying up, eyes opened and trained on his partner. Paul’s piercing gaze is locked up on him. His soft dick is between his pink lips, his cheeks sucked in. Till jerks his hands down to grab weak fistfuls of Paul’s blonde hair. It’s too much.

He can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, _he can’t_—

The terrible, awful, excruciating pleasure derived from Paul firmly pushing his thumb against that spot while nursing tightly at his raw dick is unbearable. He can’t withstand it any longer. He begins thrusting his hips in desperation, thighs closing around Paul’s head.

_“Paul!”_ he yells, “Please!”

Paul hums around him. He goes down on him entirely, letting his flaccid shaft fill his mouth, his nose in dark hair. Till is shaking wildly, his muscles cramping, head pounding, heart racing, his eyes swimming with tears of overstimulation.

It’s coming. He can feel it. It’s coming again. It’s way too much. Too much, too much—! Those tears break free from his eyelashes to drip down his cheeks, born from the agony of _too damn much_.

Till knows merely saying ‘stop’ would end it all, but now he can feel it. That rising, building, _crescendoing_ feeling, deep in his gut. His nerves are on fire, overlapping, screaming, sending shocks of lightning through his cock, shadowed by bitter pleasure. He can’t withstand it anymore, but he also _can,_ because he’s close, because—

“Oh, G-God, I’m coming, fuck, I’m coming, ” he groans, a deep, desperate sound in his throat. A proclamation he seldom expresses because it’s unnecessary, but he is unbelievably overwhelmed, his entire mind and body overridden. There is no sense of shame, no boundaries, no right state of mind. Till is gasping and crying Paul’s name as the tsunami crashes over him. His entire body jerks, shaking, twitching, his muscles contracting, cramping, as he goes utterly silent.

Paul hums, continuing to suck him off as he feels his cock weakly throb in his mouth, a pitiful spurt of ejaculation coating his tongue. He then slowly pulls off, letting his wet, abused cock slip from his mouth. He then nuzzles into his belly and his thick pubic hair, smiling to himself as he swallows down what’s in his mouth, his hands roaming up over Till’s trembling hips and sides.

“You fucking dick,” Till slurs, head lolling against his shoulder. Paul giggles and smooches him lovingly on the stomach, nosing at his dark belly hair. Till is dripping with sweat. His body is heaving, his skin hot under his touch. Paul licks up paths of sweat over his midsection, and along his side. The taste of him, so strong in itself, is lovely. Till dazedly lays there, eyes closed, mind floating off, while he distantly enjoys the sensation of being groomed. Paul swirls his tongue along his nipples, a spark of sensation amongst the dreary clouds of the aftermath. Then he’s kissing up over his collarbone, across his sweaty neck, to his jaw. Paul’s stubble scratches against him as he kisses over his cheek.

“You’re my perfect victim,” he whispers. Till grumbles. Paul huffs a low laugh. He angles his head to kiss him on his lax lips. Till weakly returns it in a lackluster purse. Paul brings a hand up to gingerly cup his cheek. He kisses him on the opposite one, and then noses along his cheekbone. Till slowly, gradually comes back into his body. His mind reaches out to recollect scattered pieces of his consciousness, reconnecting them to recreate a version of himself. He lets out a long, deep exhale. He speaks lowly, a rumble.

“Can you take the handcuffs off.”

He can still feel the cocaine in his veins. It makes him antsy and restless, and he no longer enjoys being restrained. Paul nods and kisses him on the forehead before getting up to retrieve the key.

With the handcuffs gone, the covers grabbed from the floor, Till and Paul now lounge back against the pillows. Paul tucks the blankets around them both and then returns to kissing gingerly over Till’s profile and temple. Till has his arm lazily draped around Paul’s smaller body, simply welcoming it with closed eyes. He focuses on his breathing—in and out, in and out. He doesn’t like how his skin feels tight, his heart rapidly beating in his chest.

“Did you enjoy it?” Paul asks quietly, his smooth, deep voice a comforting sound, “It was a bit fuzzy there, but I figured you would tell me if you didn’t.”

“I would have told you, yes,” Till states, and leaves it at that. After a moment of contemplation, Paul rests his head on Till’s shoulder, nuzzling into the crevice of his neck. He draws his arm around him, hand resting limply against his side. Till idly, lazily strokes his hand over Paul’s naked skin, along his waist. Paul begins weakly kissing his body again. He kisses at his shoulder, his bicep. He props up on an elbow to reach his collarbone. He moves over his chest, then back up to his neck. He mouths across his jaw, his lips soft and warm against his skin. Till hums lowly—he likes that. Then Paul gently nudges his nose along his cheek and against his ear—it reminds Till of an affectionate, needy cat.

Paul kisses at his earlobe, underneath his ear, and then nuzzles into his dark hair. He huffs, breathes him in, and then mumbles, “I can’t stay still. I need to move.”

“You need a distraction?” Till murmurs, eyes weakly peeling open when Paul sits back to look at him. Paul’s eyes are still rather dilated, his skin flushed. He bites his lip and nods. Till notices his hand is repeatedly clenching the covers by his hip.

“Why aren’t you more wired?” Paul demands, brow furrowed. Till shrugs.

“My body is a dying star, Paul. I can barely move right now.”

“No, you’re not overdosing, are you? Shit, do I need to call someone?”

“That was a sarcastic metaphor. I’m fine.”

Paul blinks, and then nods, grinning.

“Duh, right. Yeah. Did I not give you enough earlier? Should I get the bag?”

Till tiredly blinks and huffs. He rubs at his face and shakes his head. He lazily tightens his arm around Paul’s warm body and strokes his hand up over his side.

“No. I’m happy to let the night wind down. But, we can do something. We can play some _Doom_ if you’d like. Or go on a walk.”

Paul practically beams at him. Till squints, blinded by it. Sitting up, Paul claps his hands together and nods rapidly.

“Yes! Let’s do both! And then maybe fuck again!”

Till pauses, and then snorts, amused. He grins fondly at the younger man. He reaches up to cup his cheek, stroking a thumb over his stubbled cheek. Paul leans in, plants a hand on the bed, gazing down at him with excited eyes and a pleased smile. Till speaks lowly, searching in those enigmatic eyes, “Sure. But you’re going to kiss me before we do any of that.”

Paul happily obliges, leaning in with an angling of his head to crush their mouths together. Till cups the back of his head, fingers in damp, bleached locks. Their legs tangle when Paul moves closer, partially on top of him. Their lips overlap together, a passionate back and forth that has them both panting into it, made breathless by the intensity of it. Although, when Till feels naughty fingers curl around his soft dick under the covers, he freezes, and then immediately shoots a hand out to grab onto Paul’s wrist.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he murmurs against his mouth. Paul giggles against his lips and breaks the kiss to look at him fondly. Their eyes are locked, with mischief in Paul’s, sternness in Till’s. Then Paul leans back in to slowly, lovingly kiss him on the forehead, between his eyebrows. Till closes his eyes, melting into the bed while Paul runs a tender hand up over his belly and chest, to ultimately rest over his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> babypaulchen.tumblr.com


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